Noise Generator: See White Rain at MyNoise . net

Soul knelt in the center of the flooded street, rain drumming into his back and driving a relentless chill into his bones. He hated that rain, hated the sound of it—not the rhythmic beating of raindrops on cobblestone, but constant roaring, like a waterfall. He hated the inch-and-a-half of water lapping at his legs, and he hated the dark buildings looming overhead. He hated the generic street, indistinguishable from any other in the city: dirty, ugly, barren. He hated the fucking moon, laughing somewhere beyond the thunderclouds, bloody teeth bared in a heartless grin. He hated himself.

He hated that this cold, nameless place was where his meister was going to die.

He cradled her close, unable to warm her through their drenched clothes. Her bangs were plastered against her forehead, eyes jammed shut as she struggled to draw air through blue lips. In the center of her chest, a putrid rose bloomed from a terrible gouge along her breastbone. Its rotting petals furled open to welcome the rain, while creeping vines inched out over Maka's shoulders and ribs, trailing streaks of blood across her white shirt. Soul fruitlessly tugged probing briars away from her neck.

"You have to pull it out," said a weary voice. Soul stiffened, forced his hate-filled eyes to focus on Kid. The reaper had propped himself against the base of a streetlamp with his ravaged leg stretched out in front of him. He was shades too pale, too weak even to lift his head away from the grimy metal post, but Soul couldn't bring himself to care. If he hadn't gotten himself injured, we wouldn't have had to be here. If he had been a better tech, Maka wouldn't be dying. If he were a real reaper by now, he could have saved her—

Soul tore his thoughts free from the helpless rage thick in his blood, struggled to make sense of Kid's words. Pull it out. "I can't," he rasped. "I'll kill her."

Kid shook his head, not opening his eyes. "Stein's not going to make it in time. If you don't get it out of her now, it's going to destroy her soul and kill her."

A shudder tightened Soul's hold around Maka's shoulders. He looked away from Kid, down into her face. Could he do it? Did he have it in him to take her life to save her soul? Would he be able to live with himself if it was his hand that finished her?

He caressed her cheek, rubbing a thumb under her eye, then moved his hand to her chest. Thorns dug into his skin as he wrapped his fingers around the base of the rose. The answers didn't matter. He would be worth nothing once Maka was gone. All that mattered now was doing everything in his power for his meister. That was his purpose.

Slowly, carefully, Soul pulled. The plant resisted, roots burying into the edges of Maka's wound as Soul pried at it. Maka choked, twitched. Pain twisting his face, Soul set Maka down on the wet street to free his other arm. He felt his way down the rose's stem, searching for the tips of the roots. His hands sunk impossibly deep into Maka's wound, bypassed bone and heart to brush up against something caged in brambles. Something that pressed its warmth through the evil trying to swallow it, and vibrated bravely against Soul's fingers. He knew that feeling.

Soul cupped Maka's trapped soul in his palms. How was he supposed to make the damned thing release her? What if whatever he did only hurt her worse? He couldn't resonate with her, hadn't been able to since the seed of decay had gotten into her blood. He threw his anger and frustration at the rose, trying to batter his way through. His emotions were caught in the wall of thorns, sapped of their energy, rotted as easily as fallen fruit.

Leached of his fury, Soul slumped over Maka. His hair dripped onto her face. He was stripped of his armor, no longer braced by hatred or fear. All that was left was his unbearably weak core: Stupid, simple love for this girl that he couldn't stand to lose. He offered that to the rose, too, too tired to think of anything else.

Heat exploded along the brambles. Soul reared back, then grabbed the rose's stem again and pulled. Vines withering from the heat slid easily from Maka's wound. The instant its roots were exposed to the air, the rose burst into flames. Soul dropped it, and it sizzled, destroyed, on the flooded street.

Soul gathered Maka up into his arms. She lay still and silent, dead weight in his arms. Her labored breathing had stopped. "Maka," Soul called desperately. "Maka!"

No pulse. But the was rose gone, and without it, it was obvious that the wound on her chest was shallow. And her soul—it was still there. Soul could feel it. Raw hope surged through him like panic, wiping his mind clean of all sense of what to do next. All he knew was that he needed to restart her heart. Blindly, he slammed his wavelength into her. Maka, you idiot! Get it in gear! When her soul was unresponsive, he growled and wrapped his own around it. Like this, he thought, pulsing his wavelength through her. Like this. Thrumming his soul like a heartbeat, he took her face in his hand and kissed her.

A pause.

A beat.

Then Maka's chest heaved, and she was gasping against Soul's lips. He pulled away, stroking her hair away from her face. "Maka," he croaked. Her mouth moved, and he bent closer to hear.

"That," she whispered, "is not how CPR works."

Soul let his forehead fall against hers and laughed until the water on his cheeks was more salt than rain.